


Nothing Wrong with a Little Quiet

by thewightknight



Series: Ridiculous Crossovers Nobody Asked For [18]
Category: Baby Driver (2017), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: It had been one of the conditions of Baby’s parole – no driving. One speeding ticket and he’d go back in. He took the bus, or Debora drove him, but he stayed out from behind the wheel.It was hard to give it up, but he had his music, and Debora, and he found something else.He couldn’t drive cars, but he could work on them.
Relationships: Baby | Miles/Debora
Series: Ridiculous Crossovers Nobody Asked For [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1214289
Comments: 4
Kudos: 139





	Nothing Wrong with a Little Quiet

“Hey, Baby! How’s that Mazda coming?” Dom asked.

“Good enough. Should be done by tomorrow.”

It had been one of the conditions of Baby’s parole – no driving. One speeding ticket and he’d go back in. He took the bus, or Debora drove him, but he stayed out from behind the wheel.

It was hard to give it up, but he had his music, and Debora, and he found something else.

He couldn’t drive cars, but he could work on them.

Debora had found a job at a little market, working the café stand, and it was through her that he’d gotten this job. Her boss’s brother owned the shop.

“Sweet ride,” he’d said when Dominic pulled in one day. “Got something custom under that hood?” he’d asked.

“A little something, yes,” Dominic had said. And then, “So you like cars?”

A few days later, while he was hanging out at the counter, Dominic stopped by again.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked. Baby thought about it for a bit. Dominic didn’t push—just sat next to him, sipping at the Coke his sister had brought him.

Eventually, he shrugged and said, “Sure.”

Dominic took him out a track a few miles outside town. He didn’t talk much, but every word counted. He seemed to already know Baby’s history. Maybe Debora had told him. Maybe he’d used the internet. Either way, he didn’t push on that either. When they reached the track, Dominic got out of the car. It wasn’t his Charger, but it was still a sweet ride.

“Let’s see what you can do, Baby,” he said, and he tossed over the keys.

It felt good, being behind the wheel. He did two laps of the track before bringing the car back, coming to a halt next to Dominic with a squeal of the tires, slewing it around and stopping only a few feet away. Dominic laughed as he got out, and he grinned back.

On the way back, Dominic said, “So you can’t drive them out here.”

“Nope.”

“Know how to fix them?”

“Nope.”

“Want to learn?”

Dominic’s shop catered to street racers—no surprise there, not after seeing what Dom had under his hood. After-market mods were their bread and butter. They started him on simple things, but when they found out they only had to show him how to do something once, he got moved up to bigger jobs.

The cars sang to him as he worked on them, of the miles and miles of roads they’d race over, and he made sure their music was in tune.

Every now and then Dom would let him take one of them out to a track and do a solo run. Those wouldn’t be a violation. It wasn’t the same, with no one and nothing to get in his way, but it was as close as he was going to get. He’d served five years on a twenty-five year sentence, with four years left of a five year parole. He’d made it this long. He'd make it the rest of the way.

He knew there was something going on behind the scenes at the shop. He wasn’t stupid, or slow, or anything else like Griff had said—he recognized the signs. He shouldn’t have kept working there after he realized that there was more going on than custom car mods, but he stayed. They were willing to put up with his restrictions, and they all loved music. Also, none of them teased him about the way he tensed up when anyone’s cellphone started ringing.

One day he showed up to find the shop was empty, doors locked, and an official notice on the door. When he came home, he found Debora and Mia sitting at the dining room table.

Mia looked like she’d been crying. Her voice was hoarse as she shoved a thick envelope over to him. “Dom said to give this to you.”

Inside were several thick stacks of bills, a set of keys, and the deed to D•T Precision Auto Shop, signed over to him. A sticky note on the deed said “Take care of this for me.” The one on the money said “To tide you over.” There were stacks of twenties and fifties, non-sequential. He buried most of it in jars in the back yard, except for a few hundred in twenties, which he put in a jar above the stove.

It didn’t look like they’d let him keep the shop, not at first. He got pulled in for questioning. He told them the absolute truth. No, he’d never seen any illegal activities occur at the shop. Truth. No, he didn’t know what else Dominic and his crew did. Truth. No, they’d never asked him to participate. Truth.

“Why not,” one of the Feds asked him.

He shrugged. “I guess they didn’t ask because they knew.”

“Knew what?” the Fed pressed.

“About me. That I was on parole. They were good guys. Guess they were trying to protect me or something.”

He dug up one jar when things did get tight, pulling out another few twenties and fifties, then reburied it and covered it with bark and a potted plant.

At some point he gained a lawyer, a young woman in a smart suit who took him on pro bono. She didn’t say how she’d found out about his case and he didn’t ask.

It was four months before he got the keys back, but he did get them. The shop still stood intact, which was a minor miracle, with all the tools and equipment Dom had left behind. Not all of the shop employees had been part of Dom’s crew. He started making calls. Some answered, some didn’t. Within another week, they were back in business.

He kept the name. People would come in, asking about Dom. He shrugged. Some of them left. Some of them made orders and left their cars.

Every now and then someone in a suit would drive up and ask a few questions. His answers were always the same.

_No, I haven’t seen him. Nope, I haven’t heard from him either._

The day his parole ended, he pulled up in front of the market in a light blue Mitsubishi Eclipse. Music notes graced both sides, tilting further and further back as they neared the rear bumper.

“We still got a lot of Miles to cover, don’t we?” Debora asked.

“Still haven’t gotten through all the Baby songs,” he said.

The road stretched out in front of them, and the music played, and it was good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, [check out my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile) for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing. If you liked this, please share! Kudos are love and comments are always appreciated.


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